


Terror

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Gen, Gore, Horror, Nightmares, Surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:11:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9599999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: Nightmare journal.Takes place after Doomstar and after the battle with Salacia.





	1. One Heart

Why. Why had he let them die.

The battlefield was decorated with corpses and entrails. Covering his head, running his fingers through each strand of his own black hair, he listened for a sound, and heard nothing. No breath. Which was to be expected. The only body close to him (that of Charles, for the record,) was torn in half, blood spewing from any open orifices on his still-indifferent face. The inside of Mordhaus was a wreck. (He still remembered the way Murderface went first, blowing up from the inside in a mess of fat, blood, guts, bones and muscles. All that goop stuck to the bassist's Ren & Stimpy DVD cases, covering the bright colors in red.)

He stood on a trembling knee. The overhead light of the main hall had gone out and it was dark. His shoe landed in something squishy as he took a step. (Poor Charles.) His stomach turned, but no bile would come out.

Peeling through the halls, he tugged on Skwisgaar's doorknob. It was locked. He grabbed it and pulled and tugged and squeezed until his hands went sore. Or at least, they turned red and irritated. He tried to speak through the door, but no sound came from his mouth. It was only then that he noticed the deep red puddle beneath the gap in the door, and the blonde locks of hair wedged between the hinges in big, tangled clumps. 

Toki he had already seen impaled through the blades of the coffee table. Face locked in a soundless scream, his last moments a sudden crescendo before dipping into silence. He needed somewhere to hide. He needed somewhere to hide...

(You're the only one left.)

He covered his ears. Pickles must have gotten killed too.

(He killed himself, actually.)

His fist drove into the table, causing Toki's corpse to rock back and forth a bit. Stupid asshole, listening to his thoughts... His heart sank as he realized Pickles had left him alone and died. He'd lost his whole band. He couldn't do anything.

(You really aren't very smart, are you, Mr. Explosion.)

"Shut up!"

Finally he could speak. His voice was hoarse. He shook and shuddered and felt sick, like his whole body was heating up and he was going to fry from the inside. Salacia. (You remember my name. Who told you?) Charles told him. (Ah, I see.) The lights flickered as he could see all of the blood on the floor.

(Insolent boy. This is what you deserve.)

In the kitchen his mother hung over the table. Father shoved halfway in the oven. Worst day for them to visit. He sat down at the table to put his head in his hands.

(You just sit there. Feeling sorry for yourself.)

He felt like there were cold hands on his body. Around his organs. His muscles. Gripping his heart as it pounded tightly in his chest. His whole body was covered in sweat. He didn't want to be touched. He wanted to sleep. 

(Relax. There is nothing left for you here.)

"...Stop..."

Never before had he felt so pathetic, so very small. Mom. Dad. Ofdensen. (You know you can't do this alone, don't you?)

[i cant]

[icanticanticanticanticanticant]

His chest tightened. He felt like something was being ripped out of him. It hurt and it burned. He could see him. The dark-eyed half-man. Salacia. (I'll take pity on you.) He was being pulled out of his own body. Disassociating, leaving, becoming empty, not here or there, perhaps slightly to the left. His chest was on fire. He was almost out. Almost free...


	2. Slut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Swedish for "ending".
> 
> It's English for "shameless promiscuity".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for uh. Castration, weird dog show nonsense, and Toki fucking Skwisgaar's mom.

Who's a pretty boy?

He stood straight. The show judges were checking his teeth. ("Impeccable.") His gums. ("Very clean.") His legs. ("Straight. Very nice for his breeding.") His lips. ("Thick. Lovely. Not dry.") His tail. ("Clipped, clearly. Very cleanly so.") 

"Get him to raise his hindquarters." The gloves snapped over the stranger's hand. "I want to see."

A hand grabbed at the upper part of his left thigh, lifting him up onto his knees. His legs were cold and his chest hurt. He felt prodding and groping and brushing. "I see he hasn't been neutered. It's a shame, I might have to take points off..."

"Doesn't you does dat service heres?" Mr. Wartooth stated blankly.

"Ah, yes." The glimmer of scissor blades in the light passed his eyesight as the other man passed around. There was silence, and then a sting, and a scream. They had to hold him in place by the clumps of his long, blonde hair, as his fingernails scraped against the table. Blood trickled down his thighs. (His one high point. Gone. Forever. Who, he wondered, would make love to a castrated man? He couldn't think of anyone off the top of his head.) "Make sure he doesn't lick at the stitches."

"How much you's 'tinks he ams worth?"

"Well, his fingers don't work." The man scratched his chin. "But I'd say a solid thousand dollars."

"When's you wanna picks 'im up?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, possibly. We'll give him a good home."

"Olright, 'tanks." He was dragged away before he could protest. (He didn't want to go.) He stumbled on his mangled fingers, allowing his knees and eviscerated sack to scrape against the floor, creating bloody pools behind him. "Can't waits to tells my wife."

Mom...

"Dat ams wonderfuls news, Tokis."

Kiss.

He swallowed, curling up on the floor with his face between his arms. He could hear them. Kissing. Tonguing. They landed on the radio. A show started playing. (Rummaging through his memories, he recognized the show. "Superjail". Murderface used to like it before Dethklok went away.) He blinked. Mom's bra landed on the floor. (He was shocked that she was wearing one.) She was so loud. Like some kind of dirty animal. He curled up tighter, pain in his groin.

Tomorrow, he'd be sent away.

And forgotten.


	3. Punishment Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a long way down.

The shadows coiled around him. Long, low whispers. He was too young. He was too old. A chill ran through his aching bones. Magnus would be back soon. Mom would be back soon. Soon. Soon. Soon.

His whipped skin stung as the fresh fall of snow hit his back. They'd come and saved Abigail. But not him.

We don't need him.

Night fell, crushing him beneath its weighty darkness. The amalgam of Magnus and Anja would soon wake. He couldn't hide. If he took a step into the shadows, they'd swallow him whole. He could remember all of the happiest moments in his life. All those times he'd never re-live. 

Each soft minute, beamed to his brain like a satellite before disappearing. The laughs. The love. The fans. He held no anger towards Dethklok. After all, he was dead weight. He wasn't needed. He never would be. Not by anyone. His chest tightened and he felt sick to his stomach. Why? Why couldn't he have been born TALENTED and SMART? Then everything would be fine and it wouldn't hurt so much, it wouldn't burn, it wouldn't sting.

Piled beneath all of the snow, he could feel himself freezing down to his bones. Rather than visiting, tonight mother simply left him a newspaper to read.

"Dethklok: New rhythm guitarist causes a storm amongst the fanbase"

His lips felt drier with each word. He was a bit on the thick side, but clearly, everyone liked the new guy. At least he wasn't skinny and starving and dead-looking. 

At least he could play.

As the snow slowly buried him alive, he wondered if he'd just been around for show. If he really wasn't good for much at all. How long did it take for them all to agree he wasn't needed? Anywhere from a week to a month to a year or two or three. How long had Nathan been awaiting an opportunity to leave him behind? If he'd known, he would have kicked himself out and gone back to living homeless on the streets.

He was cold and knew he would die soon. He closed his eyes.

He woke back in hell, with Magnus, his hands around his throat, eyes half-lidded. He was frightened and he was in pain, but he had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do. Nobody would let him into their life. Nobody would ever love him or appreciate him.

This was his future.

This was all he was good for.


	4. DiPT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wouldn't swallow pills out of your friend's stomach.

It was at 12 o'clock he'd realized what he had done.

Blood painted his nails. The pills were still good. Brightly-colored, with smiling faces and funny pictures etched into their upper side. Scraping back into Nathan's inside he found it coated in powder, rubbing his nose into the sticky coke-goop on his abdominal walls. He felt like each notch of his spine was jammed, and as he curled back, they popped, one by one by one. Psychedelic drops trickled out of his skin, sweat intermingling with the bright pink clouds.

He'd killed Nathan for ecstasy. He knew it wasn't right, but he needed it. His legs twitched with warmth and safety. He knew it was wrong. Pop those pills, one two three. There were still lines of coke unfinished on his muscled chest.

He leaned in, taking a bite. The sensation it left was amazing.

With his bare teeth he tore away a lump of skin, chewing through the veins and tasting the injected drugs running through. As his corpse became a tunnel, he traveled, peeling through all of the organs and filling his body with relaxants and stimulants. 

He crawled out at the other end, like a man made of rubber, pulling himself from the inside of Nathan's mouth before opening his legs, allowing the body to split in half. 

Wiping the blood away from his face, he gnawed at the hallucinogenic membrane of his mouth, cracking his skull like a pinata and seeing the brain. It was rotten and gross and fucked-up. (Nathan never was very smart, huh.) Cigarette butts were still in there. He lit them, taking a drag and tasting the hot tobacco on his lips.

"Don't."

He looked down, brain still buzzing. The corpse looked dead. But it had a voice. "Why."

The psychedelic explosions were filling his eyesight, and he felt like he had cold hands all over his face. "Why would you."

He sunk into the floor, the whole world disappearing into burning neon rainbows and flowers and butterflies. (I'm an addict, I can't help it.) (They were really good. Really strong.) (I know I didn't have to kill you, but what's done is done is done

is done is done is done is done is done is done.)

He had such long black hair, the strands tied around his neck and it snapped at an awkward angle. All fucked-up and sideways, he couldn't see straight. It didn't feel like anything as he disappeared into the emptiness.

What... was the matter with him?


	5. Babe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for. paradoxical time-suicide and child death.

The sun was just peering through his windows as he hopped out of bed. The weather was looking wonderful and he was in a great mood. It was Saturday, after all, which meant no school, no homework, just some free time to hang out with his friends and family.

(Pfft. 'Friends'.)

"Good morning, sweetie." Mom was frying bacon in the kitchen. It made a nice sizzling pop-pop-pop noise in his ears. "Breakfast is almost ready. Did you feed Powdered Toast Man yet?"

"I will, ma." He grinned. A fully-toothed smile. "I'm gonna go out and play today."

"With who?" She slid eggs onto a plate, followed by a side of bacon. "That Frankie again? You seem to be quite fond of him. I'm glad you and your siblings are adjusting well after we decided to move."

"Uh-huh." Georgia was nice, really. He liked the weather. They'd come in to be closer to grandma and grandpa, but honestly, he never went to visit them. Mom said they were a real piece of work, and kind of scary sometimes. "He has a puppy."

"Well that's lovely. Don't scarf down your eggs, William, you'll choke."

"Uh'm fiiiiine!" 

"There's yolk on your face. Wipe your mouth."

He grumbled, wiping his mouth off. "There we go."

"Alright, I'm gonna feed my snake and then go! She's getting huuuuuge!" Quickly he ran back to his room, digging out a few pinkie rats for PTM and tossing them in her cage. For a moment he sat in awe watching her swallow them whole. She really was amazing. From his room he grabbed a few fun little supplies and toys and whatnot. Stuff he thought Frankie would like. Then he tossed them into a knapsack and dashed to the door. "I'm goin' out!"

"Have fun, honey."

And with that, he was out the door, and--

...Who was this?

Someone tall. With long, dark hair and green eyes. Standing at his doorstep. He blinked, staring up at the man for a moment.

"Mom, someone's at the do..." He covered his mouth. Blood seeped through his fingers. There was a solid abnormality, wiggling, trying to get out. He spat and ground his jaws together. Pulling his hand away from his lips, he found four teeth in his hand. "...Mom?"

"Shuddap." That was the only response. It didn't sound like mom at all. It sounded older. He whined turning back to the door, and the person who stood there. "Yer mom ain't here. You should know that by now." It was piercing his brain, he closed the door behind him with a fistful of teeth.

"...C...can I help you."

"You are still fucking stupid."

The man's neck seemed to bulge, convulse, before breaking off into two smaller heads like some kind of freakish mitosis. He didn't recognize them. (Yes you do) He didn't know who they were. (Yes you do) Aside from, of course, the face of Maxie. Frankie's big brother. (He used to beat you up in school)

"You're still one rotten little kid."

"You're still one fat fucking moron."

The faces receded. He was tasting blood in his mouth where his teeth were. (Gramma knocked them clean out) 

"When will you stop lying to yourself, Murderface." He whined as the man dragged him forward by his collar. "When are you going to stop. Because I think it's pretty fucking obvious that nobody likes you, right." 

"Leggo!" He bit the man's hand, running past him into the road. But he took a step and the world fluttered beneath him like a loose piece of fabric, rippling and folding into nothingness. The universe disappeared, and he rolled into the void, landing on the ground. He ached and he felt heavy. 

(Nathan. The man's name is Nathan.)

"All you've ever done is fuck up." The voices were coming from all around him. "You can't pretend things are going right for you. Issch not normal." He looked up. What on earth? "Issch fucking weird. You can't exschischt in a fantaschy anymore. You can't.

I can't.

We can't."

He stood before himself. A much younger version of himself. Still un-broken and un-wounded and innocent. The click of the pistol in his hands hurt his ears. "I'm schorry I let you live thisch long." He sighed. "Thirty-three yearsch." He pointed the gun at the little kid's head. (Gotta save him before things go wrong) (This is your chance) (Don't lose this, don't miss this) (Don't let him feel what you've felt)

"What're you doing...?"

"...I grew into a deadweight." His finger flicked at the trigger. Only one bullet. He fired... and hit. Blood pooled from the wound in the child's brain, as he fell, dripping it onto the floor. But he wouldn't disappear. He grabbed his head. Fuck. Had he seriously failed at killing himself?

Mom... Dad...

(DON'T LEAVE ME HERE ALONE)


	6. End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all comes together.

Knock knock knock.

Nathan had given up on getting back to sleep. But hearing a knock at the door was, at least, reassuring. Thank god his band was... alive. Or at least a random Klokateer was alive. He didn't look up from his book. (Dante's Inferno -- a classic.)

"Come in."

The door creaked open. He immediately recognized locks of blonde hair and let out a sigh of relief.

"...Natens?" Skwsigaar shuffled in, closing the door behind him. "I, uh... I has a noightmares."

"Shit, you too? Get over here."

"Ja, I uh..." He crawled in, squeezing under the covers. "Don't tells nobody abouts dis."

"Alright, sure, whate--"

The door slammed open.

"Natens, I has a--... Skwisgaar, what's you doin's in here?!"

"Ey. De fucks. Stops copies me. I hads a bad dreams forst."

"Screw you's off." Toki ran in, forcibly wedging himself next to Skwisgaar. "You's colds as ice. How de fucks ams dat possible, Skwisgaar?"

"Shuts you's mouth, you--"

The door opened. Again. Nathan grunted, still staring at his book. "Hey, Pickle. You has a noightmares too?"

"Nate'n, the hell is this gay shit?"

"Don't ask." Pickles shrugged, crawling in on Nathan's other side and resting his head on Nathan's tummy. "...You feelin' comfortable down there?" Nathan ran his fingers through Pickles' dreads, leaning back into his pillows.

"Yeh."

"Alright, uh, I can turn off the lights, if you--"

"Someone's ams ats de door, Natens."

The door was still open. From around the corner Nathan could see Murderface peeking in, shoulders hunched over. "Moidaface! You feelin's okays?"

"...I wet the bed." He said it so flatly that Nathan almost, ALMOST started laughing. "Can't schleep in there."

"You gots tear tracks on you's face... C'meres."

"But- but thisch isch gay! I--"

"Murderface." Nathan blankly stared at him. "Just fucking get over here or go sleep somewhere else." Murderface whined, before crawling in on the end next to Toki, who drew him in for a big hug with one arm, the other holding onto Skwisgaar's head. Pickles had half of his body draped over Nathan's, and was already asleep. "Alright, uh, we all good? Can I turn the lights off now?"

"Yeah."

"Ja."

"Yups!"

"Mm."

Nathan flicked the lights off, settling into his bed.

"Hey, Nate'n."

"Huh?"

"...Don't get hurt."

"Uh... you too."

"...'m goin' to sleep now."

He looked over the other way, finding Skwisgaar's face on Toki's neck, and Murderface's on his chest, a hand in his thick, brown hair. He sighed, sinking deep into the soft pillows and wiping his eyes clean. Thank god they were okay.


End file.
